It Only Took One Deduction
by sherollyshipper
Summary: Molly Hooper did not know that one deduction could have changed her entire life. Sherlock Holmes never knew there could be a woman who could love him no matter what he did or say. In the dance people call life. Sherlock and Molly are pushed together by fate.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Prostate or Lung?

The day started of like any other for Molly Hooper. The air outside was icy and the atmosphere seemed as if it was going to pour. It was London after all, rain and cold, nothing too different. Tugging on her coat, Molly walks briskly into St. Bartholomew's Hospital. She strides past sorrowful faces and focuses on the upcoming soulless bodies. Molly loves her job; helping the police solves the mysteries of the dead made her feel important. That is all she needed to feel – important. As she entered her lab, Detective Inspector Lestrade was already there with another man who was looking into her microscope.

"Oh. H-hello." Molly stuttered out in absolute surprise. She was absolutely confused on how they got inside the lab. She had locked the door when she left last night.

"Hello, Dr. Hooper." Lestrade says turning around. "I hope you don't mind us coming here so early, the monitor let us in."

"It's fine." Molly stares at the tall, dark-curly haired figure. "Must be an intriguing case."

"A man who should have been dead was seen in security cameras of the Bank of England." He answered, scratching his head.

Molly chuckles. "I guess the dead are walking now. Zombie apocalypse. It's happening."

"No."

But it was not the detective inspector's voice. It was a deep, honey-like voice that made Molly's heart flutter in her chest. The enigmatic man looks up from the microscope, revealing his ocean blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. His eyes travel down her as if he was calculating who she was. Her blood pumps fast to her cheeks; leaving her face looking like a ripe tomato.

"E-excuse me?" She stammers.

"There is no apocalypse and there was no dead man." He shrugs like it was obvious.

"What do you mean?" Lestrade questions whilst walking towards him.

"The apocalypse is not factual because it is an illusory story spewed by the Christians with their Bible and shenanigans. And the man is in fact alive and was never dead. The grave is empty was and has been empty for the last ten months. He faked his own death to claim his life insurance for his wife and three children. He was fired two weeks before he died with tremendous amounts of debt and mortgage to pay off…" He rambles on talking to the detective inspector and Molly cannot take her eyes off the extraordinary man in front of her. He seemed different to her - distant, off in his own world, yet fascinating.

"Molly." Lestrade touches her shoulder to get her attention. "Can you believe this? He got all this by one security tape and a button of a suit."

"It is obvious but ordinary people like you would not see it. Especially when you have apes working for you. Why did you think Anderson could help you? He has a brain of a… never mind, I don't believe his brain can function anyway." The unknown man dismisses the presence of Molly and walks past her out the door.

"Sh-" Lestrade starts to yell but is interrupted by the man who walks back in with a strange expression.

"Is it prostate or lung cancer?" He asks Molly?

"What?" This took Molly by surprise.

"Prostate or Lung Cancer." He says a bit more clearly as if talking to a child. "You're a doctor, you should know what it means."

"Y-yes but…" Molly starts to say something but is caught off when he walks directly in front of her.

"You live alone in a flat whose rent is way too high for what it is giving you. You might want to find a new place. It's infected with termites. No close relations other than your father. You have one no two close mates. But one with the blonde hair secretly hates you; you might want to break off your friendship. You have self-esteem issues and need a new wardrobe. Also, you father is sick and dying of prostate or lung cancer." He finishes off with a smile looking pleased with himself.

Molly stands there with her mouth slightly open. She glances at the detective inspector but he just stands there with a barely noticeable grin on his face. She looks back at the mysterious man with a puzzled look.

"So, what is it? Prostate or Lung?" He asks coldly. "I don't have all day. There is a dead man on the loose."

"N-neither. He has Thyroid cancer." Molly embarrassingly splutters out and watches his smile slowly disappear off his face.

"There's always something." He mutters. He turns to Lestrade "Are you coming? I can't arrest the dead man without you, unfortunately."

"Oh, yes. By the way this is Molly Hooper." The detective inspector introduces.

"I know." The man says while flipping his collar up and walking quickly out the door without another word.

"And that was Sherlock Holmes." Lestrade pushes himself off the counter. "Consulting detective."

"Consulting detective?" Molly asks.

"The only one in the world. He made it up himself. I've got to go before Sherlock does anything. Have a wonderful day, Dr. Hooper." The detective inspector bids goodbye as he leaves the lab and Molly alone in the room, with a stupid smile on her face.

"Sherlock Holmes." Molly says. "Has a nice ring to it."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Loss and The Gain

It has been two days. Molly hasn't seen Sherlock in two days and it has been killing her. She still remembers the way his lips moved, the way his eyes sparkled when there was a chase mentioned. She wanted to see him again, hear his melodic voice. The way he held himself in front of her, proud and tall, like he didn't care what the world thought of him. It was because of him, she would spend more time handling her microscope, the very same microscope he had touched.

"Oh my…" Molly started. This wasn't good. She had a crush on a man who she might never see again. Supporting herself on the hospital cart, she takes a few deep breathes trying to recollect her thoughts.

"What is it, dear?" An old frail voice calls out.

"Nothing, Daddy." Molly replies. It would be better not to tell him. He worries too much about her, especially when it comes to other boys.

"Is it a boy?"

Molly hands her father a few pills and a glass of water. "Here takes these, they will relieve your pain." Her father moves his face to the other side. "Daddy, please." she coaxed.

"Not until you tell me what the name of this boy is.", he said with a sneaky smirk. There was no way to get out of this. Her father always got what he wanted from her. There were no secrets between them and there sure wouldn't be in the future. The future; Molly fears the future. Her father was in his last stage of thyroid cancer. Doctors say he has 6 more months but she knows better. He could die any day from now.

Sighing, Molly says, "His name is Sherlock." A triumphant smile erupts on her father's face. "Don't be too excited. I probably won't see him again."

"Why not? My daughter is a gem. No man would ever dare to forget about her. After all she has the genetics of her father, George Hooper." He bragged. Molly lets her lips form a smile. "You have all the good looks, darling. There it is, - that beautiful smile of yours. This Sherlock bloke will be back. I am sure of it."

"Daddy, will you take the pills? I told you his name. That was our deal." Shaking her head, she hands her father the pills and helps him drink the water. "Better?"

"No. These taste awful. Why don't doctors make medicine that taste like chocolate?" With a disgusted face, her father launches into a rant about how horrible hospitals are.

Molly listens. Molly watches. She wants to memorize her father completely before he leaves. It wasn't fair. Molly felt as if the world is collapsing and there is no way out of it. Her father raised her all by himself after her mother had been killed by a hit and run drunk driver. And now he is going away forever too. Her only family was leaving her. Though she was never really religious, she kept hope that there was a heaven up above and her father would live there with her mother; together forever.

Suddenly it had dawned upon Molly that her father had stopped talking. She shook her father forearm trying to gain a response from him.

"Daddy! Someone help!" She yelled. A prickling feeling started to form at the base of her throat and tears materialized on the rim of her eyes. "Somebody!"

Doctors and nurses rushed into the room and pushed Molly out. She paced in front of the door for a few minutes. She had enough of waiting. She was a doctor too. Just when she was about to open the door, the door opened up and a doctor came out with a pitiful look on her face.

"Dr. Hooper, I am sorry but we weren't able to save your father." The doctor put her hand on Molly's shoulder. "I am truly sorry."

As the doctor walks back into the room, Molly finally lets her first sob release itself. One after another, tears drop from her eyes in sync with the raindrops outside. Her head gets fuzzy and her feet automatically walk backwards into a wall. She slides down and pulls her legs up to her chest letting her emotions take over her body. She knew this was going to happen. Her father was going to die and there was nothing that could be done. Molly had no family, she had no one anymore. She cancelled out the sounds around her as she tries to recall what her father had said to her last.

_Believe me, dear. You are worth everyone's attention. You are unique and different from all the other girls out there. I'm not saying this because I am your father and it's my duty, I'm telling you this because you count. You count for everyone. Just watch this Sherlock will come back into your life. It may take a while for him to understand you but I know you will come through to him. Also, I bet 10 pounds that he will enter your life again. You know that I don't like it when I lose bets, so he better. I love you, sweetheart. _

"Molly Hooper?" A voice calls Molly out of her trance. She blinks her tears away and sees polished black leather shoes.

Looking up at the figure she croaked, "S-Sherlock."

"Stand up; I need access to your lab." Sherlock beckoned while walking away towards her lab.

_Daddy, I owe you 10 pounds. _


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Lipstick?

"It's been two months." Molly says to the person inside the mirror. "Two whole months and you can't pluck up some courage and ask him out for coffee?"

She feels ridiculous. Sherlock has been borrowing her lab ever since their first meeting. His world was fascinating. His magnificent intellect couldn't be compared with anything. For two months, Sherlock had worked difficult and absurd cases and Molly would keep watching. She feels like it is time to speak up and ask him out on a date, it won't hurt to try.

With a loud, but reassuring sigh, Molly closes her pocket mirror and places it in her desk. The pile of files of the dead was leaning on her desk. One by one she started to review them, as boring as that is she had to do it. It was for comfort, families who have experienced recent loss should have closure and that is what Molly needed to do.

After working for an hour Molly feels her mobile vibrate loudly on her desk. Picking up the phone, she gasped, "Oh no." It was Sherlock. Five unread messages from Sherlock and she hasn't replied yet. Hoping everything was fine, she warily opens up the first message.

NEED TO USE MORGUE. KEEP A FRESH DEAD BODY READY. – SH

Dread escapes Molly's mind. Sherlock had scared her for a second. With no hesitation, Molly opens up her other messages.

MOLLY. I NEED TO USE YOUR LAB, TOO. – SH

WHY AREN'T YOU REPLYING? – SH

MOLLY, REPLY. I HAVE TWO CASES TO SOLVE. – SH

I AM OUTSIDE THE MORGUE. IF THIS IS AN INCONVIENT TIME, COME ANYWAY – SH

Molly stands up hastily, grabs her lab coat and sprints out of her office while texting a reply back to Sherlock. When she reaches the morgue, Sherlock is typing away on his mobile phone.

"Do you have a body?" He questions without looking up from his mobile.

Thinking quickly on her feet, Molly remembered that a co-worker had just died and his body was still in the morgue. "Yes. Let me get out for you." She stated. "Is it another experiment?"

"Yes." He replies with dryness in his voice. It was best to leave him alone when he was in deep thought.

Molly wheels out the corpse from the freezer and sets it up in the middle of the room. Sherlock places his mobile on a cart and slightly zips open the body bag, just enough to see the face of the deceased.

He sniffs the air and asks in a gruff voice, "How fresh?" His eyes never leave the body as he examines it. Molly wonders if Sherlock can identify who and what the stiff was like when they are lying naked on a slab.

"Just in. 67, Natural causes." Molly answers. While walking to the other side Sherlock, she remembers how that man was alive a day ago talking to her. "Used to work here. I knew him. He was nice."

Not giving much attention to what Molly had said, Sherlock zipped the bag back up and hastily turned around towards me, "Fine. We'll start with the riding crop." He declared with a witty smirk on his face.

"Wha-"Molly stops herself from saying anything further. It was best not to question Sherlock. Sherlock motions her over to help him take the body bag off of her former co-worker.

"Heavy, isn't he?" Molly jokes. "He ate the entire cake during the last facility party."

"Molly, don't try to make conversation." Sherlock coldly says. "You aren't very good at it."

Molly's heart drops. She would try to get Sherlock's attention everyday but end up in vain. Her lips quiver but she reminds herself that she needs to hold herself together.

"Okay. Do you want me to step outside?" She utters, attempting to keep a steady voice. Sherlock looks up at Molly as he hears the tone of her voice change. The look on her face was took him back. He saw disappointment but with something else. Something he could not deduce. He fixes his eyes on Molly, trying to study her. It was obvious that she lusted for him but there was something he can't seem to know.

"Sherlock?" Molly questions with a hint concern shaking Sherlock out of his trance.

"Yes, go." Sherlock says while hiding his confusion.

Molly walks out the mortuary and looks through the window. She stares at his cheek bones, his facial structure. It was perfect. He was like the male model of a perfect human who she had studied on textbooks. Her anatomy professor would have fainted at the sight of him. And his intelligence, it was out of this world. He always left her with question marks. The sense of curiosity Sherlock had was in no one else Molly had met. Her daydream is startled when the cracking sound of a whip is heard from inside the morgue. The crop whooshes through and crackles when it meets the skin of the dead man. Sherlock repeatedly strikes the deceased faster and harder at every strike; she almost started to feel bad for him.

Though this was an awkward moment, Molly needed to ask Sherlock out for coffee. She takes out her favorite peach pink colored lipstick and smoothly applies it on her lips. While she was walking into the morgue, she takes a deep breath and walks toward Sherlock who was using all his strength to beat up her former co-worker. After a few more satisfying lashes, he stops beating the body. He starts to regain his breath and looks curiously at his handiwork.

"So… bad day, was it?" Molly asked with a light laugh escaping her lips.

As usual, Sherlock ignores Molly's attempt to make friendly conversation. "I need to know what bruises from in the next twenty minutes. The man's alibi depends on it. Text me." He orders. He takes out his pocket book and starts to write in it furiously.

Plucking up some courage, Molly finally decides to ask him out. "Listen, I was wondering. Maybe later, when you're finished…"

Sherlock looks up from his notepad and cuts Molly's speech, "You're wearing lipstick. You weren't wearing lipstick before."

"I… uh… I refreshed it a bit." Molly responded smiling.

Shaking his head, Sherlock started to wonder why she wore lipstick. He knew that he never understood emotions but he especially couldn't understand Molly's emotions. It had taken him a while to deduce her when he saw her for the first time. He knew her friends, her wardrobe, her living quarters, but he didn't understand her emotions. Sentiment, Sherlock would always say that sentiment makes you weak. But for Molly, sentiment made her stronger.

Breaking out of his abstraction he apologized, "Sorry, you were saying." He's attentions goes back to his notepad.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee." Molly quickly says.

Sherlock closes his pocket book and answers abruptly, "Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs."

Molly watches him walk out of the mortuary with his phone and coat. Her self-esteem deflates and with a squeaky voice responds, "Okay."

She looks down at the dead body and thinks if he would have had better luck than her. She sets a twenty minute timer on her mobile phone and runs off to the washroom to wipe off her lipstick. There was no point of wearing it if Sherlock's reaction was going to so negative. Looking back at the washroom mirror, she pitifully smiled at herself.

Molly made coffee as fast as she could. Walking towards her lab, she prepared her feelings. She needed to look unshaken; she didn't want Sherlock to notice anything. He always notices something. When she walks into her lab with the hot coffee, she sees short broad man leaning on a walking stick and a professor who teaches at this very Hospital. Sherlock was the first to notice her presence.

"Ah, Molly…coffee. Thank you." He acknowledges. He gives something back to the man with the walking stick and turns towards her. While taking the coffee from her hands, he notices that something was missing. "What happened to the lipstick?" He questions.

Her eyes shifted across each person in the room while replying, "It wasn't working for me." She started to feel heat spread across her cheeks.

Sherlock astoundingly said, "Really? I thought it was a big improvement." He strode towards his coat. "Your mouth is too small now." He stated whilst showing the smallness of her lips with his fingers.

Molly suddenly felt a huge lump in her throat and willed herself not to cry. She swallows and just says, "Okay."

As Sherlock asks the other man, "How do you feel about the violin?" Molly quickly moves out of the room with tears threatening to fall.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Questions

Tears brimmed from Molly's chocolate brown eyes as she ran down the hall, passing her gossiping co-workers. Locking the door on the mortuary, she leans on the door while she let her tears fall down her cheeks. He always said awful things. He was Sherlock Holmes, the high functioning sociopath. Never cared and never showed emotion. Molly wipes her tears with her sleeve when she feels her mobile buzzing in her pocket.

Molly places the mobile next to her ear she says, "Hello?" Then realizes that no one had called her, it was the alarm to check on the dead body. Chuckling at her stupidity, Molly turns off the timer and goes to examine the body.

Sherlock walks quickly down the hall to the morgue. He deduces everyone he passes by. The blonde lady had two sons, 3 dogs and is only 2 weeks pregnant. The brunette man with the limp has been diagnosed with osteosarcoma and only has 3 months to live. Everybody had a story and Sherlock reads them. He gets bored. When he is bored, he deduces. It was the only way his brother would believe he got off the drugs. But the world was boring, and Sherlock was smart. Caring on with his dull stride, he happens to hear the nurses and doctors whispering.

_Molly was crying. I bet another lad rejected her. She is so sweet, poor girl. Molly. Molly. Molly. Molly. _

Sherlock halts abruptly in front the morgue door. He felt something inside him. He probably is just hungry and food was no concern of his. Food slowed him down and food would slow down the case. Ignoring this strange feeling, he rattles the doorknob of the morgue.

"Molly?" Sherlock says, frustrated by her inconvenience.

No reply.

"Molly!" He yells.

Molly jumps up at the sound of Sherlock's voice on the other side of the door. She runs over and opens up the door.

"S-sorry." She apologizes.

Sherlock stares at her face. Her eyes were puffy and a tint of red outlining the rims. Taking a step closer he looks directly into her eyes with a stern look.

"You were crying." He states.

"Um… I-I just miss my father." Molly shifty replies. She lowers her eyes and takes a step back. Molly can't let him know that he was the reason she was crying. Not like he would care anyway.

"No. Don't lie to me, Molly." Sherlock strictly says. Molly jumps at the intensity; he has never talked to her like that. Sure his tone was sometimes demanding, but never did it have a hint of concern. It was as if he almost cared. But that is impossible. Why would he care about her? Her in a vast sea of women?

"P-please. Sherlock. Not right now." She begs and changes the subject immediately. "There are a few bruises on the body but they are very light."

Sherlock, not happy with her sudden change of topic, takes her clipboard and walks over to the stiff. While he is inspecting the body, he can't seem to take his mind off of why Molly was crying. Most of all, why was she emotionally stronger. How can someone gain strength from showing sentiment? He glances at Molly, who awkwardly stood on the other side of the body looking at her feet.

"Molly. I need a second opinion." Sherlock says.

"Um… Yes?" She asks with a shaky voice. He needs her opinion. It seems as if the sun rose from the west today.

"Is the man's alibi truthful or not?" He says.

"Well, as seen, bruises did form on the body after 20 minutes and the man said he was not at the crime scene during that time. So… um.. yes?" Molly bites her lower lip with her eyebrows scrunched up.

"Common mistake. These bruises started develop in 15 minutes. If they had developed just recently, they would be a color of tainted blue and green. On the other hand, these bruises are purple and blue. The man was at the crime scene at that time." Sherlock says.

"Oh." Molly says with her head down.

Sherlock hands the clipboard to Molly and takes out his mobile, typing away on it. Molly goes back to work to avoid any conversation with Sherlock. With her gaze fixed on her work, Sherlock looks up at her. His questions from before rose up again. Sherlock could deduce anyone. He could see that emotion made people weaker. But Molly… Oh, Molly, she was different. He needed to figure her out; her case would gnaw at him during the middle of the night.

"Sherlock?" Molly asks. Sherlock's eyes stay fixed on her, not showing any indication that he heard her.

"Sherlock?" Molly repeats, with a bit more uneasiness. Her blood travels up to her cheeks under his gaze, heating up her face and nose.

Sherlock blinks a few times. His expression morphs back to its normal form. He grabs his riding crop and tucks it in his coat.

"Thank you." He says blandly, while he quickly walks out of the morgue leaving Molly, yet again, all alone.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Drug

The morgue was empty. No one in sight except the company of the dead; Molly was the only person in the room with a heartbeat. A heart beat that could cease in a flash. She was lying on the cold hard floor, as she waited for her soul to float out of her body. Tears surrounded her body, drowning her in the midst of solitary confinement. Not one sound escaped from the dead bodies; it seemed as if the world had stopped, but it had not.

"Dr. Hooper?" She heard her name, from a voice that was unfamiliar. The bodies around her seemed to get up and slowly walk towards her. Molly crushed her eyes shut, balling into herself. A warm red liquid covers her abdomen; her hands touch the oozing blood and realized it was her own as she felt a sharp pain in her body.

"Dr. Hooper!"

Molly jerks awake. Her head was on her desk with drool covering her hand. She takes a deep breath in, consoling herself. _It was only a dream. A nightmare. That is it. _

"Dr. Hooper?" A concerned voice asks. Molly glances up from her desk and sees Lestrade standing in front of her desk with creases on his forehead.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade?" She says with a scratchy dry voice.

"Yes. That is my name and occupation." Lestrade grins, "Come on, we might get a lead on the suicide cases." He waves the evidence bag in front of her face. Molly reaches for the bag as she gets up but instead her hand meets the warmth of a coffee cup. "You need to wake up before you get your hands on my evidence."

"I'm awake. I was just resting my eyes." Molly rambles out quickly while wiping any evidence off drool on her hand.

"Right." He mocks.

"Oh, let it go." Molly says while rolling her eyes. "What is going on with the suicide cases? What kind of lead? Is it murder?

"Sherlock says so." Lestrade shrugs.

Molly puts the coffee down after a few sips. Grabbing the evidence bag from the detective inspector's hands she says, "Of course he does. It's Sherlock Holmes. It must be Christmas for him."

They walk into the lab and Molly snaps on white latex gloves. She opens the bag with precision and a small clear bottle falls on to her hand. It looked like the others the police had found at the crime scenes. All of them only had the victims fingerprints, none whatsoever pointed to murder but the same poison and the same kind of bottle.

"I need a finger print analysis. Maybe this time we can get one of the murderer's instead of the victim's." Lestrande says with a grim voice. He rubs his eyes with his index finger and thumb. Molly could see wrinkles around his mouth; it was a hard case, and Lestrade never liked it when he couldn't solve a case.

"Okay. What did Sherlock say?" Molly questioned.

"Something about a pink case and then he ran away. Pink case, pink phone, pink dress. I'm starting to hate the color pink. Why couldn't it be green? Green is a nice color."

Molly halts her progress in her analysis and turns toward Lestrade. "Lestrade…"

"Oh, call me Greg."

"Okay, Greg, take a deep breath and calm down. As long as you have got Sherlock on the case, he'll help you figure it out. He probably has already figured it out."

"Yes, he probably has." Lestrade looks down at his feet.

Molly looks down back at the bottle. Sherlock probably has figured it out. Sherlock said something about a pink suitcase. Lestrade knows nothing about a pink case. Molly ponders for a few moments as she dabs a chemical on the bottle. Sherlock would never run away from a crime scene. "A pink suitcase. That is the answer. Sherlock went to look for the pink suitcase." She states.

Lestrade's eyes widen. "A pink suitcase. Sherlock probably already has it. But he won't tell me, unless I do a drugs bust."

"A drugs bust?" Molly asks.

"Not a real one, only one to see if he has the case and the phone. I can get permission." Lestrade casually says.

"Will they give you permission? I mean, this is Sherlock. Would he be doing drugs?"

Lestrade looks up at her. His enlightened expression turns into sorrow. "I met him through his older brother, Mycroft Holmes. He works for the government. He was the one who gave me information to solve an important drug case a few years back. That is when I met Sherlock – in the middle of a raid. He was hospitalized for a drug overdose. If I didn't get there in time, he could have died."

Molly's eyes dampen with shock. Sherlock was an addict. Why? What happened? Her mind swarmed with unanswered questions.

"Thank you Dr. Hooper. Call me when you get the lab results back." Lestrade says, snapping Molly out of her thoughts.

"Call me Molly." She says slowly, still trying to process the new information about Sherlock.

"Okay. Molly." Lestrade tips his head as he takes his leave.

Molly's mind was racing. Sherlock was on her mind as usual but in a different view. She wanted answers to her questions but she didn't know how to get them. She didn't know if she should get them or not.

* * *

I am so sorry for the wait. I absolutely love your support and THANK YOU FOR READING MY FIRST EVER FANFICTION! Thank you so much.


End file.
